mmmore works
by stolashoots
Summary: A collection of mature drabbles. Additional warnings will be in the notes at the start of each chapter.
1. he dreams

**okay, so I have very little experience writing mature stuff so I'm basically just going to be playing around with things and see what I'm comfortable writing/what I'm good at. If something seriously sucks, please give me feedback I don't know what I'm doing.**  
 **I don't think any of this will be posted on tumblr (except the first, which is already up).**

 **Warnings: vague sexy stuff, choking**

He dreams of eyes, black and orange and blue ones that never look exactly at him, just through him or past him. He thinks they're beautiful, mesmerizing, eyes he wouldn't mind seeing him when he's most vulnerable. No, he would never mind those gorgeous eyes peeling away his clothes to rake over his naked skeletal system.

(Later, as he lies on his back, arms tied above his head, sweat hanging off of him like morning dew on grass, he learns to beg for those eyes. Those gleeful, piercing eyes that stare him like he's some kind of god damned science experience, like he's the newest toy in a kid's arsenal. As he arches and thrusts upwards, his own eyes rolling back in ecstasy, he prays to all the deities he knows that he won't be discarded at a moment's notice.)

Next come the hands, fingers long and bony and the color of ivory. With the hands comes a language he isn't familiar with, but one he's excited to learn none the less. Words are formed with complex gestures, meanings completely incomprehensible to him, yet he feels wonder towards them all the same. When he wakes, he makes translating those words his new mission.

(Later, those same hands grip his cervical vertebrae, choking him. Out of view, fingers delicately caress his ribs, his humerus, his pelvis, his femur. It's all too much for him, an overload of sensations, and he wants to kick and writhe and scream for more, more pleasure, more pain, but every movement causes the hand at his throat to tighten, causes his vision to blur and his mind to grow fuzzy.)

When he dreams of the creature's face, it's like a moon against a wispy black night. It sparks a sense of recognition, something screaming at him that he knows this person, but his tongue can't quite place a name. Forgotten memories he swore never to bring up flicker forth, thoughts of a simpler, happier time. The smiling face is inviting, becoming him closer, closer.

(Later, he realizes that even though the monster has the face of someone he knew, it contains no love. It is cruel, the smile it wears actually a malicious grin. It's always smirking, smirking as he begs to be touched, smirking as he screams in pain, smirking as it leaves him cold and wet and shivering in his bed, all very much alone.)

When he wakes, there's a bitter taste left in his mouth and he's covered with slimy sweat. His bones ache and head swims, but there's a smile on his face regardless. He finds himself craving sleep, if only for another session.

(They're only dreams, right?)

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	2. attempt 1

**this is only my second post but i feel as though i'm taking a step back**  
 **Short b/c I got tired of fighting it, but this attempt has been very educational**

 **Things I should work on: talk more about feelings &emotions (pleasure? pain?), be more coherent on what is doing what where**

Cold fingers ghost along his spine; he arches into the touch and they're gone a moment later, replaced by a hand intertwining with his own. " _Sans_ ," a nonexistent voice breathes from behind, " _please, Sans…"_ Something pushes his shoulder and he rolls onto his chest, his face buried into his pillow. As if to reward him, more hands come to life. One crawls through the cavity between his ribs and vertebra, another against his femur, sliding up, up, up under his shorts to caress his pelvic bone. He thrusts down into his bed, much to his embarrassment, and he moans as another joins it to dig into his hip, forcing him still.

He grasps the covers under him and clenches his toes as finger playfully dance against his pelvis, seemingly mocking his desires. Sans whines, considering the prospect of begging for relief. Frigid lips press against his neck and shoulder, murmuring empty promises of reunion.

Sans bucks his hips and the horrible hands finally comply, shifting so that he's free to grind against one hand as the other strokes the bone. He comes too quickly; it's been so long since he's allowed anyone to touch him like this. The hands retract, their now-warned fingers giving one last caress before disappearing. He gasps into his pillow, and for a split second, he thinks he can feel lips kissing the back of his skull.

"G," Sans cries out and rolls to his side, but the presence is gone and he's alone.

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	3. Chapter 3

**this is an outtake to chapter 7 of works. I felt that it was too high rated to keep in the piece without calling it "M," but I really like it so I'm going to post it here. i guess it can stand alone lol**

 **Warnings: "gay" - sunie**

(He misses those lovely fingers stroking him under the covers, Gaster's breath hot on his shoulder. Fingers that teased and touched and made him shiver and gasp. Horrible, horrible fingers that would bring him to the point of release, then give him the agony of denial. Fingers that would cause him so much delicious pain, only to leave him thrusting and writhing and loving every second of it. He had never before realized that a skeleton could even feel such sensations, but with Gaster right beside him, anything was possible.)

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